3. I spent half a year juggling trying to be a good mother, to get on with writing the 2nd draft of my dissertation, to make sure there’s dinner on the table and clean dishes to serve them in every night, fresh underwear and clothes to wear everyday, and a relatively sanitary apartment to live in every week.

4. I fell out with my younger brother’s wife.

5. I finally found a suitable maid — after 3 duds.

6. We transferred our little girl to another preschool, started her on abacus, ballet and formal music classes.

We started the morning by going for Kindermusik, followed by roti prata lunch at Tanglin Mall as usual, then collecting the birthday cake at Takashimaya, before heading back home for her very late afternoon nap.

While she slept, Mr Fluffy Hubby and I turned the place into a ballroom fit for a princess (ok, not really, but it was good enough to wow our princess).

She was still sleeping when the first batch of guests arrived in the evening, but woke up not long after when she heard their raucous laughter.

I dressed her and she made her grand entrance down the long corridor into the main ballroom. She was such an enchanting vision in her tiny yellow tiara and her golden satin-organza ball gown inlaid with red roses that everybody clapped for her. She was so happy, she gave a little giggly dance on the spot.

Then she begun playing. She got herself a small orange balloon which she used to bat the big orange balloons that were floating all about the ballroom.

She had fun with that for a while before declaring, “I’m hungry! I want to eat!” She sat down at her special table of honour and began her feast. She had sandwiches and chicken wings, puffs and pies, tarts and more tarts served to her on princess plates while the rest of us helped ourselves to mee siam at the long table.

When she was finally done with the banquet, she opened her presents. She received an ATM machine from her eldest uncle and aunt, a bundle of Hello Kitty and Princess and Birthday goodness from her youngest uncle and aunt, and another bundle of pop-up books, orange dress and bubbly toy from her Aunty S. We gave her the Winnie the Pooh tri-scooter which she had asked for. But her favourite of the lot was the singing Princess Belle doll from her grandparents.

We thought of getting one of those kiddy princess cakes from Bengawan Solo, but decided against it in the end. Foodie Fluffy Hubby suggested the famous strawberry shortcake from Rive Gauche instead.

She topped the cake herself with the 6 Disney princesses, a grand castle candle plus 4 pretty pink birthday candles. It was lovely.

She was having such a wonderful time that when her uncles and aunties and grandparents started leaving, she tried to physically stop them. She put herself in their paths, held on to them and wailed, “No! Don’t go! Stay! Stay here with me! Sleep in my room! Don’t go!”

When she was left with only Mr Fluffy Hubby and me, she finally resigned herself to the fact that her princess ball had come to end. But not without telling us, “Next year, I’m going to be Cinderella! Cinderella gets to go for parties all the time! Right?”

Right. Because, Mr Fluffy Hubby and I, we are only too happy to have her as our little princess. For as long as she wants.

It poured cats and dogs on the morning of her birthday party in school. I decided to wait it out because there was no way I was going to be able to carry her plus 20 something party packs from the car into the school without getting them soggy. Half an hour before the start of the party, it was still raining but only lightly, so we moved off.

When we reached, the party was nowhere near starting. She joined the rest of her classmates to do some math instead.

Unbelievably, her teacher had bought a princess cake for her. Her favourite princess wasn’t on it, but believe me, chocolate and cream and icing sugar fondant made everything more than alright.

She was swarmed by her friends for their party packs. Watching them descend upon her and her backing away towards me in alarm, I suddenly realized why she had asked for the party packs to be labelled. Ah, too late now. They were gone in a flash.

She had no problem saying goodbye to me this year. I fervently hoped that she would have no problem bidding farewell to her school in a few days’ time either. The fact that this was going to be her last birthday celebration in the first preschool she has ever attended made it a bittersweet affair.

The shopping mall opposite our place was giving little girls princess makeovers over the June school holidays. Spend $80 with a maximum of 3 receipts in a day to be primped into a princess.

The first weekend we chanced upon the princess makeovers, Mr Fluffy Hubby and I snorted. We went on and on about how little girls should neither have their hair teased and tonged, nor their faces smeared with garish make-up.

Every subsequent weekend we were there to run our errands, she would stare longingly at the rest of the girls being turned into princesses. Each time, she tore herself away with the reassurance, “When I’m older, Papa and Mummy will let me dress up as a princess too. Not now, but when I’m as big as the jie-jies there. I promise not to do my hair and not to do make-up.”

After hardening our hearts for almost an entire month, Mr Fluffy and I relented. We had a quick discussion and agreed that she deserved to have some magic happen to her for exercising such remarkable self-restraint and for displaying such maturity, if for nothing else.

The weekend before the princess makeovers ended, Mr Fluffy Hubby and I told her that we were going to give her a belated birthday treat. We brought her down to the shopping mall and got her to choose her very own princess dress.

It was all very propitious because we were throwing a princess party for her the following weekend. We had been searching high and low in every departmental store all over the island for her favourite princess dress in her size, and we had not had any luck at all. Yet there, on the rack, hung an exquisite dress that fitted beautifully when pulled over her head and smoothed down her little body.

Buying a princess dress got us into the priority queue for the makeover. She was immediately attended to by one of the many ladies-in-waiting. She received her princess tattoo and nail art stickers; she had her hair poufed into a sparkly chignon; she was powdered, blushed and glossed.

She was asked which princess she would like to dress up as. I suggested Cinderella, her other favourite princess, because we had already bought the perfect princess dress for her party. She agreed.

Another lady-in-waiting changed her, then a footman handed her the sceptre, got down on one knee to wear her glass slippers for her (I whispered, from the aisle, “He’s your prince!” She was very indignant and retorted, “He is NOT my prince.” True princess. She is able to differentiate footmen from princes. Let’s hope she keeps up the good taste.) and set the tiara in place. He led her to her carriage, all alit with hopes and dreams.

And that is how we made her dream come true on her 4th birthday. It will probably never be this easy again, but like her, I hope and dream.